Bloggingmyproclivities

Monday, 27 May 2013

The Journey.

Don’t you hate it when people talk about
healing and grieving as being all part of a journey? I do. But then, it is.
Kind of like walking on pebbles at first, it’s painful and uncomfortable and
you have to go slowly. Then gradually the path changes and becomes easier to
negotiate, perhaps from pebbles to gravel, to sand, to sidewalk.

In the beginning there was actual relief
that my husband’s suffering was over. Not many of the books on grief mentioned
that so I felt a little guilty, but gradually my commonsense took over: of
course I’d be relieved he was no longer in pain, in such a broken down body
that made me cry just to look at him, and I decided not to feel guilty.

Then the journey began. The process went something like, this requiring
concentration:

On slowly going back to work. My brain was
in a fog, I had to concentrate really hard on the simplest of tasks. I often
felt like a complete idiot.

On coming off the antidepressants. Really,
how does anyone cope without these when you think you will die from the grief?
Really - die. When you think you can’t possibly survive, and you don’t know how
you will manage to get through the day. And yet, you do.

On sprucing up the house ready for sale

On moving

On cutting my hair inexplicably short.
(Very unattractive it was too – perhaps that should be in all the self-help
books: don’t cut your hair just because you can, you are not thinking
straight.)

On going back to university

On not crying in public at random moments. I cannot explain how much of a relief it was when I gradually stopped.I didn’t want everyone to see my grief, or have to explain why I had suddenly dissolved into tears. I was embarrassed, and so relieved when I could stop adding to the Places I Have Cried In Public list. I last cried in public over a year ago. It was my birthday, so it was kind of extenuating circumstances. Anniversaries and significant days are nowhere near as bad now.

On participating in the real world

The latter was somewhat difficult as losing
my husband had been the focus of my world for a couple of years and it felt
like it informed everything I did. Or should. And yet it felt terribly private
so that I didn’t want to talk about it even though it seemed to define me so.

So this journey – I really dislike that word, I must try another – so my experience
of grief and healing was so different to almost everything I read in books. The
only advice I felt that resonated with me was that we all experience grief
differently, and to treat yourself gently.

I saw a counselor who advised me to get out
there and join things, start new hobbies, meet new people. So I tried slowly at
first. I’d report back to her that I couldn’t get somewhere as I was crying
hysterically earlier in the day. What do I do?

She advised: go anyway.

So I did. And it worked. I gradually looked
forward to these events even if I initially had to talk myself into going.
Sometimes I had to promise myself I could come home after an hour if I didn’t
like it.

And so here I am now, just over three years
later with new friends, new activities and new hobbies, nearly healed, and
walking on smooth pavements.

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About Me

Blogging my proclivities gives me a chance to feel more normal. . .or at least pretend. . . and do a sort of on-line confession. It's very good for the soul of this 40+ single woman, and everyone's soul can do with a little nurturing!